Scott Van Wynsberghe: Nixon’s Yuletide bombing run

Nixon’s Yuletide bombing run

The first wave came over the mountains surrounding the Red River Valley of northern Vietnam. Below the heavy clouds of a monsoon season, in the middle of the night, nimble F-111 fighter-bombers of the U.S. Air Force hugged the ground so closely that their crews called it “skiing.” Before them, the towns and cities of the valley were fully lit, with the capital, Hanoi, standing out. As the bombs began to fall, the defenders got over their initial surprise and started blacking out the local power grid, plunging the valley into a darkness punctuated by explosions and anti-aircraft fire.

The date was Dec. 18, 1972 — forty years ago — and one of the great air battles of all time had erupted. Bizarrely, it was part of a peace effort.

Since 1968, the United States and North Vietnam had talked about ending their war over the status of South Vietnam. (The United States backed the South as a victim of Communist aggression, while the North regarded it as a puppet that Washington had salvaged from the collapse of the French Empire in southeast Asia in the 1950s.) Four years later, in 1972, these fruitless discussions were still stumbling along. During most of those four years, however, North Vietnam had been spared from U.S. air strikes, partly as a diplomatic gesture and partly for U.S. domestic political considerations.

In the spring of 1972, North Vietnam changed the nature of the war by discarding the pretence that it was merely backing local guerrillas in South Vietnam. Instead, through what became known as the Easter Offensive, it invaded the South. U.S. air support on the battlefield may have been all that prevented a southern collapse.

According to military writer Karl J. Eschmann — the source of that “skiing” reference — U.S. president Richard Nixon retaliated with a series of aerial operations culminating in Linebacker, which struck military targets across the North and included the mining of Northern ports. Linebacker lasted for months, and war scholar Kenneth P. Werrell claims it resulted in the dropping of 155,000 tons of bombs, at the price of 63 aircraft lost.

And then something strange happened: The hapless peace talks produced what was heralded as a breakthrough, even though it hardly resembled one.

As summarized by writer Walter Isaacson, the North proposed the following on Oct. 8: An unconditional ceasefire, followed by the withdrawal of all U.S. military forces (but not North Vietnamese ones), the official division of South Vietnam into Communist and non-Communist zones, and the creation of a joint body to oversee elections aimed at reconciling the two zones. Such was the extent of U.S. weariness over Vietnam that Nixon’s national security advisor, Henry Kissinger, applauded this one-sided package, and Nixon himself rewarded the North by reducing Linebacker attacks.

The White House was fantasizing, having not even consulted South Vietnam. Kissinger later admitted that the South’s president, Nguyen Van Thieu, became “nearly hysterical” at one point. Kissinger assured him that his armed forces would receive a huge influx of U.S. equipment in the weeks to come — and they did, too, to the tune of a billion dollars — but that did not prevent accusations of abandonment. Thieu’s staff drew up a list of 69 demanded alterations to the North’s proposal.

Thieu’s list angered the North, and the peace talks were derailed. By mid-December, Nixon began to snap. An eyewitness to this period — Kissinger’s one-time aide Alexander Haig — later recalled Nixon’s erratic behaviour in late 1972, which included self-isolation and contradictory orders. Finally, on Dec. 14, the president could take no more, and he ordered new bombing across the North. Linebacker II was born.

As recounted by Karl J. Eschmann, Linebacker II was to be a round-the-clock pounding, especially against the Red River Valley. Smaller aircraft — mostly F-4s and A-7s — would pounce during the day, while those furtive F-111s, mentioned above, would skulk at night. Combined with numerous supporting elements (including reconnaissance and anti-missile units), this array amounted to at least 455 planes. The real punch, however, would come from another force — 206 giant B-52 bombers, flying at night out of Guam and Thailand. Each of these behemoths could carry anywhere from 27 to 108 500-pound bombs, depending on the model.

The defenders also were formidable. With help from the Soviet Union since the 1960s, the North had built a huge system to protect its skies. Eschmann says the heavily populated Red River Valley was secured by a force that included almost 150 MiG fighters and thousands of anti-aircraft guns, but the key component was an array of 2,300 surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) and 200 launchers. The missiles were of an older Soviet model, the SA-2, which has since earned some scorn from military experts, but the North used it resourcefully.

The North also had new radar technology that it mostly kept secret until Linebacker II — causing a nasty shock — and its communications network would prove to be largely impervious to destruction. Even so, the North took no chances: Writer Arnold R. Isaacs learned that a fifth of the one million inhabitants of the city of Hanoi were evacuated even before the start of Linebacker II, and another 300,000 followed thereafter.

Unexpectedly, the attacks opened with many U.S. blunders. “Chaff” — tinsel scattered in the air to distort radar — was poorly spread. Co-ordination was a problem, because the B-52s were controlled by a jealous Strategic Air Command (SAC), while other planes were under different command structures. Also, the B-52s lacked uniform Electronic Counter-Measure (ECM) gear, which was critical in foiling missile guidance.

Worse, SAC adopted rigid flying rules for Linebacker II, leaving B-52s locked in vulnerable routes and formations. (Some of this was an effort to reduce civilian casualties through disciplined bombing, but much of it was just dogmatism.) Finally, some sections of the U.S. military were too fed up with the war to care anymore. Reporter Seymour Hersh uncovered a near-mutiny at a signals-intelligence unit on Okinawa that was supposed to be supporting Linebacker II.

Within just three nights, the bombers were in serious trouble. More than 500 SAMs had been fired over the Red River Valley, claiming nine B-52s. (Prior to Linebacker II, only one B-52 had ever been downed by the North.) Amazed crews returning to base regularly compared the mayhem to a deadly fireworks display. One Northern SAM site — referred to by the attackers as VN-549 — was becoming so lethal that fliers were told to avoid it. (Ultimately blamed for at least five B-52 kills, it would be subjected to a daylight assault days later, apparently obliterating the unit.)

Linebacker II had to be revamped. Chaff dispersal was improved, routes and altitudes were varied, formation discipline was eased, and missions were assembled with an eye to the ECM capabilities of the planes involved.

All this culminated, after an ironic pause for Christmas, on the night of Boxing Day: 120 B-52s and 114 supporting aircraft hit military and industrial targets at Hanoi, Haiphong, and other spots in mere minutes. Two B-52s were lost, but the defenders were overwhelmed by the sudden massive blow. This “tactical masterpiece” (Eschmann’s phrase) was a turning point. Thereafter, the opposition grew sluggish and spasmodic, with just 23 missiles fired on the final night (the 29th). Hanoi told Washington it wanted to resume talks.

In return for the loss of 15 B-52s and 14 other aircraft, Linebacker II had ravaged North Vietnam’s air defence and dropped 20,000 tons of bombs on its military-industrial heartland (not to mention killing some 1,600 civilians in the process). But it was not a victory. When talks resumed in January, 1973, the resulting peace accord was basically the October package, with small changes. South Vietnam had little say in the matter — and its regime would fall in 1975.

As recorded by Walter Isaacson, one of Kissinger’s lieutenants, John Negroponte, ruefully commented: “We bombed the North Vietnamese into accepting our concessions.”

National Post

Scott Van Wynsberghe lives in Winnipeg, which, oddly is also located in a place called the Red River Valley.